A pair of drunken merchant marines passed him in the gathering dusk. If they thought him odd for talking to himself, they said nothing, but murmured behind his back once they were past. Caim chewed on the inside of his cheek and ignored the itch in his palms.
'Hubert's on his way to the Vine,' Kit announced.
He touched the heavy lump of the purse inside his shirt. 'Good. That's where I'm headed now.'
'And he's not alone.'
'Is that right?'
'He's got a whole gang of roughnecks with him. Most of them look like vagrants, but a couple might be able to handle themselves. One is the disinherited son of a former pimp.'
Caim smiled to himself. Ever since he had taken up his current lifestyle, Kit had endeavored to be useful to him. He had to admit she was an exemplary judge of people's capabilities. She could look at someone and spy out what they hid from others. That ability had saved his ass too many times to count. The trouble was that Kit couldn't be relied upon to always be where he needed her. She had a disturbing penchant for leaving him for days at a time and, even more unnerving, showing up with knowledge of things she shouldn't know, things no one could know.
'Should I be worried?'
Kit shrugged, turning around to stand right side up again. 'He seems in a good mood. I'd say he was scheming something, but not against you.'
'Then I have nothing to worry about.'
The faded sign of the Blue Vine appeared around the next corner. One of the oldest wineshops in Othir, it had been owned by innumerable men and women over the centuries, passed down through families and sold off dozens of times. The current owner was Mistress Clarice Henninger, but everyone called her Mother.
She spotted Caim as soon as he pushed through the rickety door. 'Caim!'
He held open his arms as she waddled across the common room to wrap him in a fierce embrace. A thick- waisted woman on the hoary side of fifty, she was every bit as saucy as a wench half her size and a third her age. The money purse tucked in his shirt ground against her massive breasts.
'Happy to see me, sweetling?'
Kit giggled while Caim disentangled himself as politely as he could manage. The Vine's taproom was dim, its windows tightly shuttered. The only light came from small oil lamps suspended from the ceiling and two stone- lined hearths. Thick shadows clung to the brick-and-niter walls. It was crowded this night. Most of the Vine's patrons were teamsters and porters, large men who made their living by the sweat of their brows and the strength of their backs. A few nodded his way. He returned the gestures with a slight dip of his chin.
'Want your usual table?' she asked.
Mother led him to a dim corner, swaying her wide hips with every step. Caim took off his cloak and slid around the table to sit with his back to the walls. From here he could see the front entrance as well as the door to the back room where the wine casks were stored.
'A cup of Golden Swan?'
Caim started to nod, but stopped himself. 'No, I'll have the Asper tonight. In a clean cup, please.'
She laughed, grasping her breasts with both hands. 'Of course, sweetling. All Mother's cups are clean!'
A pair of oldsters in shabby coats cackled over their stones game as she waddled back to the bar to fetch his order. Kit perched on the table and regarded Caim. Her large eyes glowed like purple jewels in the dim lighting.
'So you took another job?'
He flipped a penny to the wench who delivered his wine. She flashed him a welcoming smile, but he returned only a curt nod and leaned back into the shadows.
As the girl flounced off, he said, 'You were eavesdropping?'
Kit twirled a wisp of silver hair in her fingers. 'Mathias talks so loud I could hear him half the world away. I thought you were going to take a break.'
Caim took a sip and sighed as the cool wine trickled down his throat. 'I was, but sometimes people need killing. That's what I do.'
'It didn't sound like you were too eager to take it.'
'Well, I couldn't stand to see Mathias beg.'
'You never say no to him.'
'He's a friend.'
Kit reclined on an elbow, staring up at him. 'A friend wouldn't put you in danger for a few pieces of gilt.'
Before he could think of an answer, the door opened and a young man entered. The newcomer's colorless eyes swept around the room as the door closed behind him. He was alone.
'Hubert's here,' Caim said. 'Why don't you go keep an eye on his roughnecks?'
Kit hopped off the table with a spin. 'It doesn't sound like you need my help. Maybe I'll go watch fireflies instead.'
'As you like.'
As Kit vanished through a wall, Caim focused on the youth crossing the wineshop. Hubert Claudius Vassili looked every inch the foppish noble's son he was, from the floppy, wide-brimmed hat cocked roguishly on his head, complete with a ridiculous sky blue feather, to his fine cavalry boots, polished to a high shine. A slender rapier hung on his left hip, more of a showpiece than a real weapon.
Hubert stopped in front of Calm's table with a hand on his sharp, smooth-shaven chin as if considering where to sit, and said, 'The blue falcon hunts at midnight.'
Caim kicked out a chair. 'Sit down before you draw more attention to us than you already have.'
Hubert dropped his hat on the table and called for a cup of the house best before he settled into the seat. 'Ah, Caim. It's good to see you again, but you don't have to worry. Every man in here is an ardent supporter of the Azure Hawks. They've pledged not to give up the fight until the theocrats are dragged down from their gilded thrones.'
Caim glanced around the taproom. 'Gathering quite the little army, aren't you? I thought I saw a few tinmen shaking in their armor tonight.'
Hubert spread his hands as if delivering a benediction. 'The people clamor for freedom, Caim. I am but a humble servant of the public welfare.'
Caim tossed the purse onto the table. 'And regular infusions of my money don't hurt either, do they?'
Hubert covered the purse with his hat and pulled it into his lap. 'Not at all. The Hawks are very grateful for your generosity. It's donors such as yourself that fuel the engines of our progress.'
Caim couldn't resist. 'You've had progress?'
Hubert didn't notice the jibe. 'Naturally. Our forces are marshalling. Plans are being laid. One day we will free the people from the Council's tyranny. One day very soon!'
He glanced around as if expecting a chorus to support his claim. A few tired drinkers nodded in his direction, but most simply stared into the depths of their cups.
'Well.' Hubert turned back to Caim. 'It will happen. And we'll have you to thank.'
'So why did you feel the need to bring a gang of strong-arms to our meeting?'
'How-?' Hubert gave him a weak smile. 'I should have known. They are merely waiting outside for my protection. The streets are dangerous these days. I would never dream of insulting a man of your talents.'
'Good. I wouldn't want any misunderstandings, Hubert. I respect what you do, misguided though it may be at times. However, this will be my last donation for a time.'
'But we need your support now more than ever. Things are heating up. We're staging demonstrations nearly every day.'
'I understand, but I've got my own problems.'
'But-'
'Look, Hubert. I'm taking some time away from the contract game.'
'How long?'
'I'm not sure. A couple months, maybe more.'
Hubert leaned across the table. 'Then come join us. We could use a man like you.'
Caim pushed his empty cup away. 'No offense, but I'm not interested. Your little enterprise has been
